Cold Guinness on a hot night

You know, the day started pretty good, all things considered. I woke up half-asleep. I had assembled a Coalition of the Willing among the few alert brain cells, called my day job. Night Job went into overtime last night and I had about two hours sleep. Day job was very understanding (as most answering machines are) and I promised to be in for the later half of my shift. Made sense to me, as I would have slept through the first half of the shift and they don't pay me to sleep. Apparently.

The day ran on well, night job went ahead. And then I had the last batch of the night, the one before you go home, and it all went to shit.

Without getting into specifics, my job was to find errors and I had at least 5 to deal with. Since it was the end of the night, my department needed it fixed to meet a deadline. Nothing like the gathering of (Well-meaning, really) colleagues asking if they can help, and all the while trying to prove yourself in a new job task.

All told, I was tense as a thong on an elephant by the end of the fix. I left with that sense that I either did a good job or had buggered it up royally. It's a funny inbetween place.

As I left work, I walked to catch my streetcar, and I heard a whiz and a clink. Some dickhead had tried to hit my with change thrown from a moving car. I had my headphones on, so I don't know if something was actually shouted at me. They were stopped at a light ahead of me, and for a moment, grabbing a brick from the nearby patio reno and smashing in their BMW's window seemed like a logical option.

Then the light turned green. And they left. With the f#@$er eyeing me from the passenger window, waiting for a reaction.

All I thought on the way home is "I want a pint" Not in that alcoholic need a pint, but the sense of needing a time-out so I wouldn't go to bed angry.

And that's why I love The Local , my neighbourhood pub.

I popped my head in as soon as I hopped off the streetcar.

- Apparently, I am known there. The manager, Sean, seemed to
recognize me, so I introduced myself. An ice-cold Guinness was ideal.

- The owner/manager of Silver Spoon was at the bar, and he promised the best genuine creme brullee. Any takers? He was nice, promising to bring a sampler over for the bartender who said creme brullee was her absolute favourite.

All in all, I had a much needed timeout by last call, caught up on my book, Da Capo Best Music Writing 2004, had a laugh listening in on a few conversations, a good soundtrack on the speakers The Last Broadcast by Doves, and generally getting my shit together. In times like these, sometimes you just need a cleansing breath.

And as I walked home, the ipod threw Daft Punk's Da Funk at me to give some bounce to my step. Lovely turn around, recovering a day despite a lousy hour.